


Pretty Boy

by Catseatingmuffins



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bilingual Lance, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Crossdressing, Cute, Depressed Keith, Gay Keith (Voltron), Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Lance like to wear cute clothes, M/M, Nervous Lance, don't hate, fluffy klance, flustered Lance, hispanic lance, klance, shiro is a Dad, supportive pidge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-10-24 00:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17694515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catseatingmuffins/pseuds/Catseatingmuffins
Summary: Lance has always been the one to flirt, constantly throwing out compliments and cheesy pick-up lines... But when Shiro brings back his new "son," Lance is at a loss for words. And Keith finds it adorable. ALSO, Lance loves to wear things that would generally be considered "girly." Keith also loves that.





	1. Prologue

“Hey Lance! Come check this out!” Pidge called, their high-pitched voice echoing through the beautiful architecture of the mall. Lance rushed over, excited by this shopping trip, (Lance loved to shop) and joined Pidge in gawking at the beautiful marble green shirt they’d just found. Nearby, Shiro was supervising a bored Keith as he walked by the racks of plain coloured shirts.

 

Subtly beginning to tap his foot, Shiro grabbed Keith’s shoulder and smiled at him. “How about we try a different store?” He carefully suggested, watching the black-haired boy roll his eyes at Shiro’s impatience. Shiro sighed and ran a hand through his tuft of white hair, chuckling sourly. “Fine, I’ll be over in the cereal aisle, we’re getting low on ‘FlakeEms’” Shiro explained, heading away from the shrugging boy.

 

Keith sighed and leaned against a shirt counter, letting his eyes flutter shut for merely a moment before stretching his exhausted arms and trying to clear his overworked mind.

 

“-nce? Laaance? Anybody in there?!” Lance shook his head and tore his eyes away from the muscular stretch of skin between the stretching boy’s shirt and his pants, forcing the blush from his cheeks. “What are you looking at? Ooh is it girl?!” Pidge squealed, trying to peer around Lance to find the source of his distraction.

 

Lance, worried Pidge might attract the attention of the tired boy, quickly turned around and shushed them. Pidge smirked, noting Lance’s blush and flustered expression with a smirk .

 

“Sooo, are you gonna go over and talk to her?” Pidge asked, finally succeeding in looking around Lance. Their smile fell slightly  when they saw no one but the raven-haired boy, who by this point was scrolling through his phone. “Aw, I don’t see her. Were you just daydreaming?” Pidge asked, chuckling. Lance blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, wishing the subject of ‘girls’ would go away.

 

“H- She’s gone.. you missed her sorry I’m gonna go look for some shirts or something BYE!” Lance shot the words quickly at Pidge as he sped off, ignoring their eye-roll and heading to one place he knew would calm his anxieties.

 

Lance smiled as he slowly trailed his fingers over soft fabrics, tracing the frail designs that littered the dainty clothing. He noticed a girl, looking about the same age as Lance look over at him, a strange glare in her eyes sending a prickling feeling through his bones, but he just ignored it, people usually looked at him funny when he shopped in this specific section. Decidedly picking out a simple light blue shirt that rested just below his shoulders, Lance began to walk to the dressing rooms.

 

The same girl who had been staring from across the silence suddenly appeared in front of him, hands on her hips angrily as she blocked Lance’s path. “Where do you think you’re going?” She demanded, sticking a finger close to Lance’s nose. Lance tilted his head, confused.

 

“To the dressing room. To try this on?” A thought flickered into Lance’s head like a warning sign and he looked down, trying to seem as nonthreatening as he could. “I- I can go to the men’s dressing room if you’re uncomfortable or something, I understand.” Lance tried to smile convincingly, beginning to panic at the vicious confrontation. His smile fell as the girl narrowed her eyes, a simple word falling from her lips and stabbing Lance directly in his fragile heart.

 

“Faggot.”


	2. Chapter 1: Something Wrong With Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge knew Lance sometimes got weird looks when people saw him shopping in the women's section, but this was outrageous. Pidge might need to kill somebody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BYTHEWAY!!! I forgot to add it in the tags (I'll do that later 'cause I'm lazy.) But my perspective of Pidge is "They" so that's how I write about them. I understand if you have a different view of the situation, but this is mine so don't hate. Thank you :)

At this, Lance spun around and swiftly stalked to the men’s dressing room, walking into a stall and throwing the shirt on a chair. Soon, Lance heard a tentative knock.

 

“Lance? You okay? I saw you rush over here and you’ve been in there for a while. Did something happen?” Pidge began to grow concerned from the silence of the boy. Slowly, they heard the clanks of the lock coming undone. The door creaked open softly and Lance looked down, avoiding Pidge’s eyes.

 

Pidge noticed the stream of liquid flowing from Lance’s eyes immediately and stepped forward to envelop the boy in a hug. Even though Lance was taller than them, Pidge managed to hold onto the shaking boy as he leaned into Pidge’s embrace. Like a breaking dam, Lance’s walls came down, tears flowing steadily from his eyes as he was held by a very concerned Pidge.

 

“Shh, I’m here Lance. What happened? It’s okay Lance shh. I’m here now, you’re okay. You’re safe.” Pidge whispered soothingly to Lance as the crying boy pulled them into the enclosure of the stall and sat, facing away from his worrying friend. Pidge cautiously smiled and began to rub Lance’s back in small, reassuring circles. Lance’s sobs became apparent as he let out the stress inside him.

 

“Lance? Are- are you relapsing? Is there something I can do? I could go get you a- a cup of water or something? Or call Hunk?” Pidge offered, fear creeping into their mind. Lance tensed, but shook his head, breathing in as deep as he could to steady his ricocheting breaths . He slowly turned around, smiling when Pidge ran their fingers through his hair skillfully. Lance hummed, leaning into the touch as his tears quietly slowed to a stop.

 

“It’s stupid. I shouldn’t be t-this upset. It’s s-stupid. I’m sorry Pidge. Lo siento.” Lance breathed out shakily. Pidge shook their head, lifting Lance’s chin with their petite hands and finding his crystal blue eyes with their own emerald orbs.

 

“Lance. Will you please tell me what happened? Are you hurt? Did someone try to hurt you. Did-“ Lance cut Pidge off with the shake of his head.

 

“It’s stupid. There w-was a girl. She umm.. she saw me looking at this shirt I liked.” Lance gestured to the discarded shirt. Pidge smiled as they picked up the article of clothing. A small hand ran over the simple design as a sigh escaped their lips.

 

“Lance, you should be able to wear what you want. I don’t get humans sometimes. They piss me off. If you want to wear this, you own it. You’re beautiful either way. You know I’ll always-“

 

“She called me a faggot.” Lance admitted quickly, screwing his eyes shut. Pidge slowly began to colour a dark red shade of fury. Lance dared to sneak a peek at Pidge, flinching away from the harsh glare they gave to the floor. Slowly, Pidge seemed to deflate, their fists clenching and unclenching.

 

“I hate that word, I’m sorry. It really makes me- I just- I start thinking illogically and my emotions kinda take over.” Pidge looked utterly drained for the slightest moment before straightening up and wrapping Lance in a huge hug. Lance, having never seen this emotional, instinctual side of Pidge, let himself be wrapped in the loving embrace.


	3. Chapter 2: Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *SORRY I KNOW IT'S SHORT*
> 
> Lance just needs a hug sometimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been really busy lately and a lot has been going on, but writing helps with my problems so I try to do it as much as possible, thank you for reading and again, I'm sorry it's short. I promise a long chapter soon.
> 
> *Song is "Same Love" By Macklemore & Ryan Lewis (Feat. Mary Lambert)

Lance, closing the door to his cramped, messy room, fell languidly onto his bed. Even though his shopping experience had recovered since the “incident,” he was still upset and worn from the verbal abuse he’d received when he finally arrived at his house.

 

Not letting himself give his mind away to the lingering sadness, Lance scrambled for his phone and sent a quick text to Shiro, asking if he’d “ _maybe want to hang out for awhile?”_ Shiro was always there for him when he needed him the most. Surprisingly, the phone dinged only a moment after he threw it back down, making Lance glance over with, shock on his face. Lance was used to the hesitations and pauses of Shiro’s texts, he was a busy man and rarely wasted time on his phone. Lance smiled as his screen lit up his face in his dim, small room.

 

 ** _Daddy Shiro:_** _Sure, do you want to head to DQ’s?_

 

 **_Thread the Needle_ ** (Lance): _the restaurant or arcade?_

 

 **_Daddy Shiro_ ** : ( _Droppin’ Quarters)_

 

 **_Thread the Needle_ ** : _sure, be there in half hour, bike’s got a flat_

 

 ** _Daddy Shiro:_** _See you there._

  
  


Lance, chuckling at Shiro’s impeccable grammar, clicked his phone off and heaved his tired body off of the bed, steering his legs to the closet. His wide variety of colourful shirts stare back at him. Lance, still on edge from his encounter at the mall, didn’t let his eager hands take out the new article of clothing. Instead, he chose a light grey sweater that was only slightly too large for him.

 

The soft texture of the shirt gently caressed Lance’s skin as he tugged it over his head. Lance turned to his mirror and thoroughly inspected his outfit, his eyes trailing over the shirt. Okay, maybe it was more than a little too big, but Lance loved it, he felt safe and secure in the embrace of the soft sweater.

 

Once Lance deemed his outfit complete, he grabbed his satchel and headed for the door. Though he had tried to sneak as quietly as he could through the halls, his mamá intercepted him right before he got to the door; she had seen his anxious rush into the house carelessly.

 

“Mijo. ¿Estás bien?” Lance’s mamá, Marie, asked from her place by the door frame. She had heard her son bustling not so discreetly down the stairs and had poked her head from out of the kitchen. Lance smiled and nodded, his anxieties fading to distant thoughts.

 

“Estoy bien mamá, no te preocupes. I’m gonna chill with Shiro, I’ll be home for supper.” Marie smiled and Lance shrieked as he tried in vain to escape his mamá’s incoming hug, but he failed terribly and was swept into a loving embrace.

 

Lance, having always been the “mama’s boy,” soon relaxed into the hug despite his previous struggle and wrapped his own arms around his loving mamá. Slowly, Lance breathed in the soft scents of his mother, the aromas of cinnamon and flour tickling his nose sweetly.

 

Marie smiled as she stroked Lance’s hair, chuckling at how much taller Lance was than her already. “I’m going to be with the kids so please don’t call and get them all rowdy.” Marie sighed half-heartedly, then seemed to think a moment, a playful grin finding its way upon her face. “Unless it’s a girl, then definitely call and put her on the phone.” Lance, trying to ignore the harsh twang in his chest, rolled his eyes as his mother winked. A sigh erupted from his chapped lips as he composed his pained heart.

 

“Alright mamá, you’re going to get so many calls tonight!” Lance joked, laughing as he opened the door and made his way to the sidewalk. Smiling, he waved to his mamá and began walking as she closed the worn door. Taking a deep breath, Lance cleared his head and put in his earbuds, readying himself to act presentable in the presence of his friend. As the steady melody of piano started playing, Lance let himself relax.

  


_When I was in the third grade, I thought that I was gay_

_'Cause I could draw, my uncle was, and I kept my room straight_

_I told my mom, tears rushing down my face_

_She's like, "Ben, you've loved girls since before Pre-K!"_

_Trippin', yeah I guess she had a point, didn't she?_

_A bunch of stereotypes all in my head_

_I remember doing the math like, "Yeah, I'm good at little league."_

_A preconceived idea of what it all meant_

_For those that like the same sex had the characteristics_

_The right-wing conservatives think it's a decision_

_And you can be cured with some treatment and religion_

_Man-made, rewiring of a predisposition_

_Playing God, aw nah, here we go_

_America the brave still fears what we don't know_

_And "God loves all his children" is somehow forgotten_

_But we paraphrase a book written thirty-five hundred years ago_

_I don't know_

 

**And I can't change, even if I tried**

**Even if I wanted to**

**And I can't change, even if I tried**

**Even if I wanted to**

**My love, my love, my love**

**(He) keeps me warm**


	4. Chapter 3: Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little insight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *WARNING!!! THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES ABUSE, DEPRESSION/SELF-DEPRECATION, AND SLIGHT VIOLENCE/GORE. IF ANY OF THESE TOPICS ARE TRIGGERING, PLEASE SKIP THIS CHAPTER.*
> 
> I will include a summary of this chapter in the notes at the beginning of next chapter in simple and (hopefully not triggering) terms. I won't go into detail.

Keith sighed as he slowly sat his grey phone beside him on his sloppily-made bed. Hearing a bang from an unknown spot in the house, Keith flinched and looked toward his splintered, brown door. A sharp breath of relief exited his mouth as Keith heard the sound of unsteady footsteps receding from his room.

 

Swallowing, Keith rubbed his eyes, trying to calm his spiking heart rate. He made his way to the mirror, contemplating the text he’d received from Shiro moments before the bang at his door had distracted him. As he slipped his phone in his pocket, Keith studied his reflection in the tall glass frame, he noticed how messed up he’d let his hair become. Tugging on the black strands of his hair, Keith made a mental note to get a haircut soon.

 

Despite the warm weather, Keith pulled a black shirt over his head and reached for his jacket, sliding his arms into the holes gently. He was in the process of gathering his long hair to be pulled up with a hair tie when Keith heard another bang, louder and much closer this time. Keith flinched, unintentionally pulling his soft hair as he quickly removed his hands from around the thick strands to cover his face.

 

Tentatively, Keith inched toward the door, reaching cautiously for the handle as another loud knock resounded through his skull. Keith almost retreated to his bed at the sounds of grumbling beyond the door, but he knew he’d have to open the barrier sooner or later, so he unsteadily gripped the handle. Keith’s hand twisted as his wrist turned to unlatch the door, tugging on the knob until a crack formed in between the door and the frame it belonged to.

 

Without hesitation, the door was flung open from the other side, force and anger resonated from the man now standing in front of Keith’s visibly shaking figure. Heart hammering in his chest, Keith forced himself to meet his foster father’s glare. The man was somewhat tall, evidently muscular, and obviously drunk out of his mind. Sloppily, the man stepped forward and snarled at Keith.

 

“The hell were ya’ doin’? Thought you was gonna cook? You gon’ cook for your papa, huh?” The man boomed out, causing Keith to flinch. Slowly he nodded, looking down to avoid the sharp gaze of the evil figure before him. Before Keith could even think about reacting, a closed fist collided harshly with his jaw, leaving him to fall to the cold wood floor. “You ain’t no son o’mine. You’s a pig! No one wants ya’ and that’s why you ended up here.” Grinning, the man kneeled beside the cowering boy.

 

The man, John was his name, gripped Keith’s hair suddenly and yanked him up, leaving the young teen to attempt to bite down his shouts. John, noticing the tears in Keith’s eyes, yanked harder on the tender strands of hair. “Only pussy’s have hair this long, how ‘bout I give you another haircut huh? I could just yank it like this-” John nearly lifted the short boy off of the ground by his hair. “Or should I do it like this?” John asked, only waiting a moment before gripping the swath of black fluffiness tightly and swinging Keith to the ground, leaving the sobbing teenager in his room with the bang of a door.

 

Keith tenderly reached up to feel his head, his eyes widening when he drew his bloodied hand back into view. He stumbled painfully to the bathroom, looking in the mirror at the pathetic, wounded boy staring back. Grabbing a stray cloth, Keith turned the nozzle on the faucet, sending a gush of cold water into the marble sink. The cloth began to expand with water as Keith held the towel under the flood. Once he deemed the fabric wet enough, Keith turned the sink’s handle to its original position, wringing the excess water out with both hands.

 

Keith laid the rag on the counter and pulled his shirt and gloves off, throwing the bloodied clothes into the nearest hamper. The bruises on his chest and stomach burned with the impact of being thrown to the hard floor of his tidy bedroom again. Keith made his way back into his room and stood in front of his closet.

 

Once he had changed into a similar black, long-sleeved shirt to the one he was wearing earlier, Keith retrieved the soggy rag and placed it on his head, wincing from the cool contact on his still-bleeding wound. Keith sighed as he thought of a way to cover the bruise covering his cheek and blacking the area around his left eye.

 

Checking the lock on his door, Keith retreated once more to the bathroom, rifling through drawers in search of a way to cover up his lies. Shiro couldn’t know. Keith tried to push out the past memory of Shiro finding out his secret.

 

_ Keith hadn’t expected a birthday party, he’d never told anyone it was his birthday, no one except his newest friend, Shiro. Shiro had talked to him, he didn’t laugh or call Keith names or pull on his hair. He just talked, and he listened too, that was what Keith liked the most. He and Shiro had been on the playground discussing the upcoming events when Shiro asked Keith when his birthday was. Keith, confused, asked why. _

 

_ “So I can go to your party! Duh.” Shiro teased, poking Keith’s shoulder. Keith, still clueless, wasn’t sure how to respond, so Shiro continued. “How old will you be? Can I come to your party?”  _

 

_ Shiro stood, taking the younger boy’s hand as he made his way to the sandbox. Eight-year-old Keith had no idea what Shiro was talking about. The Twelve year old began to draw in the sand with a short stick. Keith watched as Shiro began to sketch a picture. There were people, smiling people, and balloons, and a cake. Keith would like a cake. _

 

_ “I’ve never had a party before. Maybe I can ask Mr. Bayley? I wonder if he’d let me.” Keith wondered aloud, earning a shocked glance from Shiro. _

 

_ “You’ve never had a party?!” Shiro squealed, his prepubescent voice high and shrill. Keith winced at the noise and nodded. Shiro began to smile and jumped to his feet, waving for Keith to follow him. Keith slowly got to his feet and walked after Shiro, smiling at the dancing and waving boy. _

 

_ Later, when Keith approached his foster father with his hopes high, he received a smack to the face, quite literally. Mr. Baylor yelled at Keith for ten minutes straight about asking for things he knew he’d never get. “After all,” Mr. Baylor, grunted. “You don’t have a family to have a birthday with.” _

 

_ Keith, high on the conversation between him and Shiro, began to protest. However, the boy was quickly silenced by a hard shove, knocking him flat on his behind. Mr. Baylor loomed over Keith, making the boy choke on his words nervously. _

 

_ Keith, not having makeup to cover his wounds, arrived at school the next day with bruises and cuts littered along his arms and legs. Shiro approached the young boy with wide eyes and an open mouth. “What the heck happened to you? You look like you were in a fight!” Shiro exclaimed, gingerly taking hold of Keith’s hand. Keith saw no reason to lie, no one had ever asked him about his home life, so he never had to explain. _

 

_ “Mr. Baylor got mad because I asked him for a party, so he hit me. It’s okay, it happens all the time, I’ll be okay.” Keith explained, shrugging with a wince. Shiro’s gasp was quiet as his eyes slowly began to brim with tears. Keith, not understanding his situation, began to worry. _

 

_ “Shiro? Are you okay? Did I do something wrong? I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I promise!” Keith stuttered out, scared for his friend. Shiro, having been taught what is wrong and right by his parents, was very concerned. _

 

_ Shiro grabbed his friend’s hands, letting his tears dry on his red cheeks as he slowly pulled his younger companion into a hug. _

 

_ However hard Shiro tried, Keith refused to let him tell on Mr. Baylor. If Shiro did that, Keith explained, Mr. Baylor would get even more mad. That shut Shiro up. _

 

Keith, finally finding the makeup he needed to hide his truth, closed the cabinet and slowly got out the feathery brush. Sighing, Keith got to work on dusting the powder on his wounds, wishing he could be doing this for a different reason. Keith had always wanted to see what he’d look like with makeup, but not like this. Not in this situation.


End file.
